


I Know What You Did Last Summer

by sceal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Derek Uses His Words, Derek's Life Is Hard, First Kiss, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, POV Stiles, Protective Stiles, Sad Scott, Sassy Peter, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Underage Drinking, Underage Kissing, Virgin Stiles, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sceal/pseuds/sceal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah Stiles is not looking forward to delivering Derek's eviction notice.</p>
<p> <br/>A prequel to Season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know What You Did Last Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the Season 3 Premiere. So um. There were mysteries and new developments and this is how my brain explored them. This story is non-compliant with all the episodes that follow.

Stiles walks up the rickety porch steps, nodding his head confidently and rolling his shoulders. This is like a game of lacrosse.  His heart’s pounding, he could get hit or lose the ball, well both balls, but he’s gotta do it.  Really this is less frightening than the first match of the season.

Especially since Derek might’ve already received the eviction notice.

It _is_ possible.

Okay not really. The police station was swamped this afternoon.  And yeah Stiles closed the file without forwarding it to the right people. Then thought better of it!

Printing the e-mail and hiding it beneath his shirt. 

No one noticed.  All acts of subterfuge are ridiculously easy to get away with, thanks to Jackson.  The guy was a saint when he ever so kindly sent the entire working force into early retirement. With his claws.

Hell, his dad’s so desperate for manpower he hired Stiles.

What the-? Tribal tattoo? On the door?

Derek has enough downtime to redecorate but can’t install a roof? Build a shed? A dog house? Anything. Anything that would give Stiles ground to stand on.

Because he’s got nothing.

_Please dad, it… looks better on the inside? Sure it’s the scene of a homicide and happens to coincidently harbor the main suspect in two missing teen cases, but just trust me?_

_Never mind why._

Won’t work. 

Hasn’t worked.  Stiles tried.

Weird.

Maybe he’s remembering it wrong- it’s not like he memorized the layout of Derek Hale’s shoulder blades- but the welcome sign doesn’t look right. Oh the fact that it announces crazy people live here is spot on.

The black-as-death brush strokes are too linear.

Which is just great.

He’s got enough on his plate right now thankyouverymuch. No more mysteries.  His corkboard is already full.  Detailing Boyd and Erica’s last whereabouts down to the last TMI detail that Stiles will never manage to erase from his brain in order to regain his childhood innocence where life was nothing but kittens and butterflies and puppies whose worst felony was peeing in his shoe. 

He’s a teenager. Summer is supposed to be all parties and skinny-dipping.

Fun. Relaxing.

Only. The ink on Derek’s back is not a bland rose or an overcompensating sword or a wholesome Disney character.  

Three swirls. Alpha, Beta, Omega.

Exactly like the triptych theme in this graffiti.

Stiles twirls on himself, scanning the surrounding woods.  Everything is leafy green.  Peaceful but vibrant, nature at its lushest.

Lots of camouflage to hide who the fuck ever has the kind of balls that makes painting symbolic werewolf territorial shit on Derek Hale’s front door seem like a bright idea.  Something they’d like to essay, perhaps before engaging in other light, harmless fun like locking themselves in a cage with a rabid dog.

Actually that would be redundant because baiting Derek is exactly that. Asking to get bitten.

The door slams open.

Speak of the devil.

Stiles jerks back, raises an arm to ward off-

Through the spaces between his fingers, he spots something tall, dark and feral.

 “What do you want?” Derek growls.

Actually his voice is less of a growl than ever. The guy looks tanned and super chill. Ohmygod, Derek, of all people, is having a good day? Seriously?

Besides the extra sun and the missing stick that’s usually rammed up his tight ass- No, the stick is usually rammed tight up his ass, aw, fuck it. Derek has a nice ass. An ass that Stiles can’t see right now. So Stiles can’t vouch for Derek’s _derrière,_ but the rest of him hasn’t changed.

Still that irritating mix of sexy and stupid with just enough domineering thrown in to sweeten up the deal.

“It’s about time. Leaving me to languish is not on. It’s hotter than-” you? Really? That’s where he’s going with that? “an oven out here.” Better.

  _Lead with the weather, pretend you’re lost, ensure the eviction notice remains safely hidden in your pocket, don’t look at the door. Don’t!_

_And since you’re giving yourself instructions anyway, breathe._

Derek eyes him suspiciously. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Thank god Derek’s his usual anti-social self. “My bad.” Stiles turns, trips down the stairs but rights himself at the last second. Breathes in a sigh of relief.

Chokes on the exhale when a dead man talks.

“Tut tut tut.” Peter. Peter?! “Derek. That’s no way to treat a visitor.”

Stiles spins around to scan the hallway. The entrance is all dark shadows behind Derek. Who was supposed to get rid of Peter! You count on the violent werewolf to do one thing, one thing! But nooo. Those two deserve each other.

Stiles doesn’t care how stupid he looks.

He makes a run for it. Back to the safety of his Jeep. Where there is not even one Hale, let alone two.

Usually.

Derek’s fist punching the driver’s door forces Stiles to stop, his feet skidding in the grass.

“Hey!” Stiles says.

“Did your dad find something?”

Stiles removes Derek’s hand. Tries to. Glaring doesn’t work, neither do muscles. Time to go old school.

Seeing no other way, Stiles goes in to lick Derek’s hand and is finally greeted with an obstruction-free escape.

Awesome, Derek didn’t leave a dent.

“The case is still cold.” He eyes Derek standing there, all Alpha-ish, and Stiles means to leave it at that. Except-“You’re living with Peter. How did that happen? Was there even an internal debate? A, Hmmm, he’s a psychotic homicidal sociopath and I’m the one thing standing between him and what he wants, plus he has valid reasons to seek revenge, against like me, but then again…I really need the rent? Jesus Derek. Have you looked for Erica and Boyd in your own backyard?”

Derek’s expression doesn’t change except suddenly Stiles feels vulnerable. Excruciatingly aware of his fragile and fleeting humanity.

 Stiles flashes back to digging up Laura’s body.  What was left of it. Aw, man.“I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. I am. But are you completely out of your mind?”

“He didn’t take them.”

Like Derek never underestimated his uncle before. Stiles knows better than to bring that up though. To think that Stiles stood up for this idiot. He shakes his head in disgust. “I can’t believe I was your alibi.”

Derek crosses his arms. “Along with Jackson, Lydia, Allison, Scott, Isaac. Your testimonial hardly saved me.  But I’m not surprised you’d want to lock me up for a crime I didn’t commit. Again.”

Stiles shivers.  He can practically feel Peter’s gaze digging into his shoulders from wherever he’s hiding in that creepy-ass house. Plotting evil mastermind shit. “Just knowing he’s in there makes my skin crawl. He can hear me, can’t he.”

Derek nods.

 Stiles wants to leave, but the craziness of the situation keeps him rooted to the spot.  Being around Derek is horrifying and entrancing.  Like watching a train wreck. One he has no hope of preventing but he has to try.

“Just so you know, I’m holding _you_ accountable if he does shit,” Stiles says. “He’s your mess. Also. Since we’re on the subject: don’t you dare start biting anyone new to make up for the pack you lost.”

“You’re threatening me,” Derek doesn’t sound angry, more like surprised.

Stiles is a little surprised too. “Yep. So you taught Jackson a few doggy tricks and packed him up for London? That doesn’t atone for anything. It doesn’t help. They weren’t just dumb cops. They had names, kids. Jackson’s an asshole, and I so want to blame him.  But you. You knew what could happen and you bit him anyway.”

“You’ve been talking to Lydia. How is she?” The gleam in Derek’s eyes is pure satisfaction.

Everyone knows what Lydia is up to these days. Or who she’s not up to. “Fantastic.”

“I’ll bet. So you came to lecture me?”

Stiles doesn’t know why he’s trying. But it’s not like anyone else is around to keep Derek in check. Peter’ll just egg him on, Isaac’s too nice and Scott. Is too depressing to think about. “No more biting. I want your word.”

“You’re not getting it.”

“Fine. Then tell me what you’ve you done to Boyd and Erica.”

Derek leans in, like he doesn’t already have Stiles’ rapt attention. It’s the eyes. They’re arresting. Pretty, intense, always with the challenge. Full of the arrogant assumption that Derek can handle anything. “I’m letting this slide because you're Scott’s friend. And I owe him.  But my debt only stretches so far.”

Stiles does have a certain amount of self-preservation.  So he backs off. A little.“At least give me something. A clue.”

Derek considers him for a good minute. “They’re alive.”

“You- you’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Oh thankgod. Stiles barely knew Boyd. Was mostly scared of Erica. But he needs good news right now. “Thanks. For telling me.” Feeling generous, Stiles takes the eviction notice out of his pocket. “Here.  Thought I could- This way at least you get advanced warning.”

Derek skims the page. Scrunches it up into a tiny ball, tries to return it, eyes flashing hot with anger.

Ah.

Shooting the messenger. Stiles should’ve seen this coming. “I didn’t do it!”

Derek deliberates, judge, jury and executioner, his face its usual shade of cryptic.

No more impulsive decisions.  From now on everything he does will be premeditated. His internal alarm will blare if he heads towards this side of town. Maybe he can program a warning in his GPS.

Derek finally nods, dropping the paper ball in his front jeans pocket.“Thanks.”

“Oh. Well. You’re welcome. I did it more for the sake of the unsuspecting civil servant who’ll be delivering the notice. That would not have been pretty.”

Derek frowns. “Funny.”

“Look,” Stiles says. “If you want I can talk to my dad.”

 It didn’t work before, but he just needs to sleep on it. He’ll come up with something.

“There’s no point.”

“You’re just going to keep living here aren’t you. It could work if you keep a low profile.”

“Do you value your life at all? First threats. Then lectures. Now you’re trying to give me advice.”

“That’s me.  Living on the edge. Right. I really don’t want to ask, but- what’s the deal with the door? Is Peter trying to claim the house? Shouldn’t you take it down? As much as I hate to say it, if we have to have an alpha, I’d rather it be you.”

“Thanks for the vote in confidence.” Oh Sarcastic-Derek is so cute.  In an NC17 way. The deadpan tone just has Stiles itching to provoke an earnest reaction.

An itch he will not scratch.  He’s here on business, not pleasure. Business…Why is he here? Right. “Listen. Boyd and Erica. They both left notes for their families, told them they were leaving town, so my dad’s writing it off as young love. He’s wrong, isn’t he.”

“I already gave you your clue.”

“Oh come on.”

Derek raises a brow. Damn Stiles wishes he’d mastered that skill.  But the mental picture of a younger Derek practicing for hours in front of the mirror is priceless.

Stiles grins.  He loses the smile when he remembers what they’re talking about. “Isaac’s as quiet as you are. But he’s acting shifty.”

“Let it go.”

“As long you’re taking care of it,” Stiles nods. “You are. Taking care of it?”

“Drop it Stiles.”

“Alright, alright. I am dropping it.”

 

 

No one is more surprised than Stiles when he actually does. Drop it. To the best of his ability.  The corkboard is stored in the guest room. If Derek says they’re alive… Stiles has to trust him.

Oh he still keeps an eye out for new developments.

If they had anything, Stiles would be the first to know. Sure he rarely does field work, unless you count the times he’s blessed with the exciting and important mandate of directing traffic. But otherwise he’s the office’s jack-of-all-trades.

Yeah, his dad keeps moving him around before he permanently screws up any specific department. They really are that understaffed.

Which is why, after a long week of work, Stiles is excited to see Scott.  Things have been weird between them lately.

But today Stiles is doing something really special.

Taking Scott out for a walk.

Scott is dressed and waiting for him, sitting at the edge of his driveway.  Clothed and already out of the house? This is good.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles says as Scott slumps in. “What’s new on Dr. Oz?”

Scott blinks at him, dazed.  He looks sick, kind of like an underfed orphan. Scott told Dr. Deaton he needed a week off like a month ago.  It’s not like Deaton isn’t ready to give Scott his job back whenever.

 Scott frowns. “I otos mth.”

“What?”

“I brought us something.” Scott hands over a brown paper bag.

Stiles look inside. “Motherfucker. Did you drink-?” That is a fuckload of gin.

Scott shakes his head. “Waited for you.”

“Thanks man,” Stiles says, hiding his gift in the back seat. “That’s thoughtful. Why don’t we save the best for last? Start the evening off with something, I don’t know, non-alcoholic? How about ice cream?”

Scott shrugs, looks out the passenger window.

This is going to be fun.

They order their regulars at the ice cream parlor, slurping their cones at one of the white tables outside. Stiles smiles and waves at coworkers out enjoying the overcast but hot evening. Drops the cone in his lap.

He’s just returned to the table with a bunch of napkins, busy dabbing at the stain, when he hears the sniffle.

He raises his head.

Scott is crying. Eating his ice cream and crying.

Stiles settles in beside him, pats his shoulder.  Feeling utterly helpless. Like he has all summer.  Who the fuck goes to France anyway?

“Hey, hey, shhh,” Stiles whispers. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- Do you want to leave?”

Scott keeps eating.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Scott shakes his head, wiping the tears off his cheek with enough force to leave a mark.

Stiles sighs and throws his cone in the garbage can. It misses his target. So he keeps trying with his napkins except he gets none in and the ice cream girl is glaring at him from behind the counter.  Littering while his buddy cries? He’s a horrible customer.

Scott’s still doing his thing.

Stiles leaves him to it, picking his mess up off the ground and frowning fiercely at anyone who even looks in their direction. “Alright buddy. Let’s get you home.”

Something comforting to say…He’s driving, in his prime thinking zone, but he’s got nothing.

They arrive at Scott’s house. “See you next Friday?”

Scott slumps out and waves his hand limply.

“I’m taking that as a yes!”

Stiles gets back on the road, almost buzzed out in that mindless zone.  Except he’s tired of going through the motions on auto-pilot.  Hell, visiting Derek yesterday was the most alive he’s felt in ages. 

Sure working at the station is crisis after crisis but even they start to look the same after a while. None of the petty disputes they settle compare with the adrenaline rush of escaping a creature bent on murder.

He might as well check up on the Hale situation. 

He’ll know right away what’s what, going by whether there’s a dead mailman on the lawn or not.

There’s no dead mailman. The haunted house looms over miles of empty lawn. What? Again with the door?

It’s covered in what looks suspiciously like blood but can’t be. Not that much.  Right? Derek would have to have killed…A Peter sized werewolf?

Stiles tries not to get his hopes up.

He sniffs the air and from up close it’s unmistakable. His fingers come away stained red.

Wet paint.

“Helloooo?” Stiles tries. “Anyone home? By which I mean Derek. Peter if you’re there don’t tell me.”

Nothing.  Minutes of nothing.

The Sherriff’s working.  Scott’s broken heart has him nearly catatonic.  Lydia’s busy fucking her flavor of the week.

Stiles can wait here another five minutes.

The place is spooky enough that it’s giving him a bit of an edge and the sun’s presence makes this not completely terrifying.  Stiles grabs the bottle of gin Scott forgot in his car and sits on the front porch.

Technically Scott shouldn’t be drinking, so Stiles is doing him a favor.  What with the drugs and all. Scott’s seeing the guidance counselor and she’s prescribed anti-depressants. Huh. Maybe Scott heals before the pills have an effect.

He coughs. Damn that’s strong. Keeps coughing, swallowing another gulp and coughing some more until he’s a little dizzy, like he needs to lie down. Somewhere cold.

The lawn, the lawn feels nice.

Stiles turns his head, grass brushing his cheek. It tickles. Derek’s house is huge. He always says his family died in the fire.

Well no Derek never talks about it. Stiles read the police report. All of them living together, aunts, uncles, cousins, everyone. Is that what werewolves do?

It would be nice to have a pack.  Isaac’s nice. Cute. Not as cute as Danny. Or Lydia. Or Derek. What did Derek do anyways when he wasn’t in Beacon Hills? There’s a good chunk of his life missing.

He must’ve been up to something.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Stiles looks up into Derek’s face. “What the hell were you doing when you weren’t here?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Is it a secret? I love secrets. Were you a stripper? You can tell me. Don’t be ashamed.”

Derek’s head disappears from his line of sight.  The sky is super grey. Rain would be cold.

“You’re just leaving him?” Ah shit Peter’s here too. “Obviously I think it’s a great idea.  Scott might not like it.”

“I should,” Derek says.

“I’m glad you painted over Peter’s tattoo.” Stiles blinks up at the heavens. “Not that yours is nicer. I never understood that.  Paying people to hurt you.”

“Get up,” Derek says, his voice not too far away but not too close either.

“Sure,” Stiles says.

Stiles lifts his head. About an inch. He rubs his hands through his hair. “I’ve got to cut this off.  It weighs a ton.” He lies back on the ground and that feels better. “My head’s too heavy, Derek, I can’t.  I want to but I can’t.”

“Try again,” Derek says.

“In a minute.” Stiles waves his arms at the clouds with authority. “Release your ire unto us, ye gods of thunder!”

“What are you- you’re filming him?” Derek says.

“Nope.” Stiles feels like he would know if he was.

“You think this is more embarrassing than anything he gets up to on a regular basis?” Derek says.

“You’re right.” Peter sounds regretful.

“Peter you know that time you offered to bite me?" Stiles says. "And I said no? I’ve changed my mind.  You never made any kanimas. Right?”

“When?” Derek growls.

“Such a long time ago, you know I really can’t remember,” Peter says.

“Guess,” Derek growls.

“I’d say back when I escaped the hospital," Peter says. "It was more of a thank you and anyways I’m reformed now. A new man.”

“That’s right,” Stiles says. “His nurse was there too. Not there in spirit, if you know what I mean.” Stiles offers his neck. “You have to come to me Peter. I can’t move.”

Derek looks especially hot right now.  Also mean. “I thought you didn’t understand why people paid to get hurt.”

Stiles smiles. Derek actually listened! “I’m not paying him.  And a tattoo doesn’t give you extra strength or a pack and it definitely doesn’t make Lydia love you.  I want to be in your pack. It’s just the kanima thing, I know you understand. Then we can kill Peter together.”

“Yep,” Peter says. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Derek says.

 “Oh. You want to be nice. Here: we leave him to sleep it off,” Peter says. “That’s nice.  And safe. The Alpha pack hasn’t returned in months.”

“Get the wolfsbane,” Derek says.

“Isaac’s expecting us,” Peter says. “We don’t have time to deal with this.”

“Just go.”

Stiles is lifted off the ground. Swinging back and forth as Derek starts walking. His face lands pretty much level with Derek’s butt.  The man is carrying him over his shoulder, like Santa’s bag of presents. Derek considers Stiles to be a gift.

Not one to miss an opportunity, Stiles slides his hand in Derek’s back pocket.

The swinging stops because Derek stops. “Get your hand off my ass.”

“I’m not touching it,” Stiles defends. “I just want to put my hand in your backpocket. Like in an 80s movie. You ever seen _Sixteen Candles_? It’s all they do in the opening credits.”

“I will drop you if you don’t quit groping me.”

“Fine,” Stiles sighs, removing his hand with one last loving pat.

Derek opens the car door and Stiles falls on the back seat. “If you puke in my car I’ll throw you out and leave you on the side of the road.”

“I would never!” Stiles tries to sit up in an exasperated huff but his hair just feels like a thousand bricks weighing him down. So he curls up and closes his eyes for a minute.

The last thing he hears is, “There’s having no heart but you can also have too much of a good thing Derek.”

Because the guys in the front seats are not talking.

He’s only pretending to be asleep.  He’s tired but intrigued. Where are they taking him? What’s an Alpha pack? Keeping his heartbeat slow enough to fool the werewolves is damn near impossible.

They’ve been driving for a few minutes by the time Stiles caves. “How about Peter bites me now. Then Derek can tell me all his secrets.  I’ll be part of the team. First I wanna know about the stripping.  No the alpha pack. Don’t really care where you’re taking me. As long as it’s not to Scott’s house, that’s too sad.”

Stiles hears a ripping noise. Of fabric. Coming from the passenger side. Is Peter digging his claws into the seat? Couldn’t be.  It’s not like he has to hold on. Derek’s not driving that fast. Plus Derek would kill him.

“What, no disapproval?” Peter says.

“You can’t just gag him,” Derek says. “You’ll need something for his hands too.”

More ripping of fabric noises. Uh Oh.

“If you bite me I promise I’ll stop talking,” Stiles says. “Come on guys. Let’s be sensible. Lydia only loves the captain of the lacrosse team.  I’ve got no chance without this.”

“Peter?” Derek says.

“My pleasure.”

Stiles keeps himself perfectly still while he’s gagged and his hands are tied together.  It only takes Evil Uncle Peter a second so it’s not like Stiles has time to fight back. 

“Tell Stiles why you won’t bite him,” Derek says.

“You’d kill me?” Peter says.

“Yes. But the other reasons.”

“The other-oh. Sure you get an infinite amount of power but you’ll be dependent on us to learn how to use it.  Weak as a baby.”

Ridiculous and a lie. Stiles can ask Scott for guidance.  Having a pet project would probably cheer his friend up to boot.

“Actually that’s the only disadvantage I see,” Peter says. “Everything else is pretty fantastic.”

“You’ll have to hide your identity,” Derek says. “From everyone. Your dad. He’s too old to survive the turn. Humans will kill you if they find out. Hunters will never stop chasing you.  Werewolves will kill you if you get too strong, challenge you for the fun of it if you’re weak. You’ll either be forced to blindly obey someone else’s orders or lead your own pack.  That means you have to be ready to die to save them.”

Dude. Stiles always knew Derek was grim. But this is a grim-party. A pack would still be worth it though. Except.

Stiles bends his knee and lifts his head even though his hair is still so heavy.  Rubs his knee against the strip of cloth covering his mouth until he dislodges it. “Do werewolves mate for life? Wolves do. Humans don’t. Mostly don’t.  Some humans don’t even mate with the same guy twice.”

“Lydia is a mature woman exploring her options,” Peter says.

“She’s not exploring them with me,” Stiles says.

“I wonder why,” Peter says.

“Yeah?” Stiles says. “Me too. But if werewolves mate for life…I don’t want to be one. Because Scott’s- I mean I’m- But Scott. Is he stuck with Allison? Forever? What’s he supposed to do? She’s in France for Christ’s sake.”

“Allison’s gone?” Derek says.

 “I want to help,” Stiles says. “I’d do anything to help.  But what am I supposed to tell him? That it’s all going to be okay? He’ll find someone new? That’ll be rich coming from me.”

“Werewolves mate for life,” Derek says.

“No we don’t,” Peter says. “That’s ridiculous. Werewolves are completely different from wolves.  That’s like saying humans mate for life because monkeys do.”

“Some monkeys are monogamous,” Stiles says. “Depends on the size of their balls. Take gorillas for instance. Tiny balls. Monogamous.”

“Tell me more,” Peter says.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “It’s all about the sperm count. There was a research done-”

“We mate for life,” Derek says.

“Shut up,” Peter says.

“But there are ways around it,” Derek says.

For once Peter doesn’t have a witty comeback. Neither does Stiles.  Unfortunately Stiles also doesn’t have a filter. “Like if she murders your family?”

Stiles gasps. He’s suddenly hanging out of the car. His lower back is still on the seat but his neck and everything above it? Dangling in thin air. Freezing. Night air. Peter’s clutching his shirt with one hand and keeping the door wide open with the other.

Stiles tries to open his mouth to scream but the wind is so strong.

 The car is still rolling. Except it’s slowing down?

Derek breaks with a jerk. Stiles’ forehead bangs against the metal door.

Fuck. Ow.

“In the trunk,” Derek says.

Peter lets go of him because Stiles falls. Arms catch his shoulders, lift him until he’s once again lying on plush leather seats.

Stiles pats his cheeks. His nose. His forehead. His ears. Everything accounted for.

He’s never ever joining a Hale pack.

Poor Isaac.

The front door clicks open and Derek is driving again. Except no one’s in the passenger seat because Peter is in the trunk. “Did you kill him?”

Stiles feels like he’s going to be sick. Not because of the gin.

“What do you know about Kate?”

“I dug around,” Stiles said. “It didn’t make sense. The fire. In the police report, how they’d said it started. How could she get that close to a pack of werewolves in the first place? I talked to Allison’s dad. He doesn’t know, but the things he said. It was obvious.”

“Did you ever stop to think it was none of your fucking business?”

“Yes,” Stiles says. “I’m not stupid. But it’s too late now. I know.”

“Shut up about it.”

“You were fifteen! Anything she did- it’s not your fault, she-“

“The answer to your question is no. Your mate murdering your family is not enough to break the bond.  You have to trick yourself into believing she’s dead long enough to imprint on someone else. There’s a 50/50 chance that might work.”

Derek was mated to Kate? All those years? What does that even mean? Did he find someone else? In the spirit of staying out of the trunk, Stiles decides to drop it for now. “So Allison being in France is ideal.”

“Yes.”

“I just need to find him a girl,” Stiles thinks about this. “Since I refuse to be a werewolf- because of the mating thing! Has nothing to do with you or Peter!- which means I’ll never ever stand a chance, I suppose. I suppose he can have Lydia. They kissed once.”

“It’ll take a while before he’s ready.  What he needs right now is a distraction.”

“I hate that word. ‘Distraction’.  Do you know that’s what Lydia wants? She said she liked me too much to do that to me? She likes me too much to fuck me.”

Derek parks the car. Stiles sits up. Can’t see a thing. It’s dark. But his head doesn’t feel heavy or hurt- except for his forehead where he slammed it against the door.

He hobbles out, keeping an eye on the Derek-Shadow. “A little help?”

Derek frees Stiles’ hands.

The trunk pops open.

Stiles doesn’t know if Derek pressed a button or if Peter could’ve gotten out all this time.

“That was unnecessary,” Peter says as he walks past. “I wasn’t the one telling the human our weaknesses.”

Stiles watches him disappear into the night. “He’s going to kill you. In your sleep or stab you in the back. You won’t see it coming.”

“Not if I get him first,” Derek says, walking towards..? They’re on a gravel driveway in the woods. A light goes on when Peter enters… a house?

And not just any house.

It looks like something out of a fairy tale.  Derek’s house does too, but this one looks like the place where the good guys live.  Like Sleeping Beauty and her fairy godmothers are in there singing a song.

A cute bungalow. With white shutters. Flowerbeds.

“Are we breaking in?” Stiles says. “Who’s the victim?” It’ll be awkward filling out the paperwork at the station tomorrow about a robbery he committed. But this is good, cementing why becoming a werewolf is bad.

“It’s my house,” Derek says.

The inside looks just like the outside makes you expect. No weapons or chains. All the standard furniture, stuff that looks comfy and lived in. Cozy.

“But. How?” Stiles’ can’t even.

Derek walks down the hallway so Stiles follows.

Derek stops, turns. “You get the couch.”

Derek enters a room, closing the door behind him too fast for Stiles to see anything.

Stiles can see the couch from here. It’s got an afghan on it, an afghan! It’s big enough, but.

No way.

Stiles knocks on the door.

Derek opens it. Shirtless. Wearing pants though. “The bathroom’s two doors down to your left.”

And the door closes in his face.

Stiles knocks again.

“What?” Derek’s down to his boxers. “Are you hungry? There’s food in the fridge.”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“What’s with you tonight?” Derek says. “First you grab my ass and now you want to sleep with me?”

“Pure coincidence. There just has to be lots of doors between me and Peter.”

“He has an apartment in the basement.  If we had a shed he’d live there. He’s not allowed upstairs.”

“Not good enough.”

Derek lets him in. Stiles enters before Derek can change his mind, blinking in amazement.

He stops in his tracks.

For the first time, genuinely afraid. “What the hell is going on?”

Derek crosses his arms, looking…defensive?

“Seriously. None of this makes sense. You would never leave your parents’ house. Even if for some crazy reason, you did. A bungalow? Flowerprint? Derek that is flowerpint wallpaper. Pink. That’s a bookcase. Filled with books. Not weird creepy stuff like wolfsbane and animal heads.”

“Just go to sleep.”

“No. Uh uh. Not until you explain. What the hell is an ‘alpha pack’? Do they have Boyd and Erica?”

Derek closes his eyes. 

“Because it can’t be what it sounds like,” Stiles says as Derek gets beneath the covers. “Right? Does their pack have an Alpha? There’s an Alpha-Alpha out there?”

“Yes,” Derek says, and everything goes dark.

Because Derek switched off the lamp on his bedside table. This is like the twilight zone.  Stiles believes the Alpha-Alpha exists- that doesn’t make sense but can be explained- and he’s terrified about it, he is, but. Derek has a bedside table?

Stiles strips down to his boxers, feels his way towards the bed. It’s king sized, so it’s hard to miss. Slides beneath the covers. “Don’t hog the blankets.”

Stiles tries to relax, but he’s wide awake when Derek speaks.

“I can’t believe I believed you. On your high horse yesterday. ‘Don’t bite anyone anymore Derek’. You’re just like everyone else. You want it.  You’re gagging for it.”

“I was drunk!” Stiles defends. “It was a fluke. Everything is back in order now. I’d never turn into another species for a girl. I’m desperate, but not that bad.” Stiles laughs but even to him it sounds hollow.

“You’re a teenager,” Derek says. “It’ll pass.”

“Oh fuck you. How is that helpful?”

“Who said I was trying to be helpful?”

“That’s just great. But since you’re awake… I’ve been wondering-”

“No.”

“I won’t be able to fall asleep until we talk about it.”

“Then stay awake.”

“Just. One question!”

Derek is quiet and Stiles takes that as permission. “Are werewolves circumcised?”

Derek snorts. And …laughs?

Stiles hides his smile, tries to keep it out of his voice. “I have to know. I figure you’re not. But you have all these secrets, so. I wrote a paper about this stuff. It’s professional curiosity.”

“Go to sleep,” Derek says, but it sounds more like a really strong suggestion than an order.

“Seriously though. Why did you move? Here?”

“The house was already on the market,” Derek says, sounding relaxed. Almost asleep. “In the woods. Smaller. Easier to defend. I’m done preserving some twisted loyalty to ghosts at the expense of my pack.”

Wow. Derek getting his revenge on the Argents actually gave him some type of closure. “When did you buy it?”

“Just after school ended.”

“Why were you still at the old house yesterday?”

“We drop in regularly to see if there’s anything new.”

“Then the Alpha pack has Boyd and Erica. Damn. That’s bad.  What’s with all the books?”

“Good night Stiles.”

“Yeah, good night.”

Stiles is almost sleeping when he hears it.

“My mom was an avid reader. I’m rebuilding her collection.”

After that admission, Stiles lies awake most of the night. Thinking about the werewolf snoring beside him.

 

He wakes up plastered to Derek. Like on top of him. Chest to chest, aw jeez, he even drooled on Derek’s pec. That is not sexy.

Stiles blinks his eyes fast, trying to wake up. Grabs the blanket and rubs at the trail of saliva.

He’s mostly done when he realizes that Derek has to be awake. Unless werewolves are really hard sleepers?

He slowly lifts his head.

Stiles winces into wide-awake green eyes.

“Good morning?” Stiles says, rolling off before Derek can order him to.

He lands on his back in the middle of the bed.

Derek gets up, yawning and stretching a bit. The morning wood Stiles felt digging into his thigh juts against the cotton of his boxers.

Stiles’ reaction is automatic. He’s too sleepy to think of the consequences, to even try to stem his arousal. Damn Derek is fine.

Derek turns so Stile is staring at his ass which is no disappointment.

Derek suddenly halts his progression towards the door.

Turns around. Green eyes locked on his, Derek sniffs the air.

Smirks. Raises an eyebrow.

Stiles is beneath the blankets but feels like Derek has x-ray vision to his cock. He grabs the closest pillow and shoves it on top of the blanket. Over his thighs. Regrets the impulse when Derek starts laughing.

“Oh ha, ha,” Stiles says. “You know what laughter does to the fragile male ego, so you have no excuse. All the nice thoughts I was having about you are disappearing. Prick.” Stiles regrets the word choice immediately. “Asshole.” That’s worse. “Bastard.” Good.

“You _are_ desperate,” Derek says, still standing there watching him, so smugly amused.

“Like you being my third choice is anything to be proud of,” Stiles says. “So you get bronze. Big deal.”

“Who’s silver?” Derek’s still seems to think this is the funniest joke.

“Danny.”

Derek frowns. “Jackson’s friend?”

“Yeah.”

Derek’s face clears. “Not bad.”

Derek leans back against the dresser like this is something they will discuss, when really the conversation is over. The delicate floral wallpaper behind him only makes the hard lines of his body stand out more. All that naked muscular skin. Still sporting his morning erection.  Not making any effort to hide it.

“So what do you want to do with me Stiles? You want to fuck me?”

“Alright, enough,” Stiles says. “The joke’s over.  I get it. You’re too old. Too strong. I’m just a human, it would never work. Even if you wanted to, you don’t have time. You’re too busy saving Boyd and Erica.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Derek says. “Hardly a grandpa.”

“Exactly!” Stiles says. “It’s only- wait. What? Um. What are you saying?”

“Lydia’s not the only one who needs a distraction.”

Oh.

Oh God.

See Stiles hates that word but coming from Derek’s mouth you know it’s growing on him. “Are you messing with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Please. But uh. Uh. what about the mating thing?”

Derek shrugs. “My problem. I’ve handled it before.”

“O- Okay,” Stiles says. “So. Let’s fuck?”

Derek laughs. The sound washes over Stiles like music. Some kind of sexy, smoky song. “How do you want to do it?”

Stiles suspects this of being a trap, even when the evidence is pointing right towards him. But there’s only one thing to do. “Well I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Have you.”

Stiles nods, loving the way Derek’s knuckles turn white as he grabs the dresser. “Pretty much constantly. I figured, you know, since it’s going to be my first time?”

Derek nods. “Go on.”

The virgin thing isn’t a problem. Score. “That we could take it slow. Maybe start with some good old-fashioned making out? Nothing below the belt? I mean I really, really want to, it’s just-“

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Derek walks up to the edge of the bed. “Get up.”

Stiles stays on the bed but straightens until he’s kneeling, which makes them the same height. Their eyes, mouths, level.

Derek’s mouth is so pouty. Curves downward when it’s relaxed. On the small side, like if anyone doesn’t pay extra close attention they’ll miss it. But the lips, a bruised shade of pink, they’re uh.

Moving. Derek whispering, “What are you going to do with me Stiles?”

Stiles leans in until his mouth brushes feather light against Derek’s. Darts his tongue out to taste. Feels a hand, strong and hot against his nape. Derek taking control.

With ninja kissing moves that just- What the-? How-? Stiles is gasping and crazyglue stuck to Derek’s chest.  Like there’s a straight path from his mouth to his cock and each press of lips and dip of tongue is making him want to be Derek Hale’s love slave. The man is skilled.

He has finesse. Major finesse. A refined technique that’s wrecking havoc on all the thoughts Stiles always has rushing through his head. Derek is confusing him in the best possible way until Stiles has no choice but to land in his body. 

Stiles’ falls to a sitting position on the mattress possibly because his knees give way. Derek steadily leans down until Stiles is pinned. At Derek’s mercy.

Derek’s arms stretch out safely above them and Stiles is the one cheating, sliding his hands beneath Derek’s boxers. Palming his ass as he moans. “I changed my mind,” he pulls away to whisper. “Below the belt. Now.”

Derek the cruel, cruel bastard, shakes his head with a grin that says he’s enjoying the torture. “Can’t. Too late.  We agreed.”

“Derek, please!”

“Nope.” Derek leans down and keeps kissing him. Stiles uses his hands as leverage to get the friction he wants. Except Derek backs out of his reach.

Stands.

Stiles doesn’t understand what’s happening. His hand with a mind of its own reaches down to grab his dick beneath his boxers, trying to recreate the friction.

Derek is leaving? Heading toward the door?

“It’s not like I actually thought you'd keep your word,” Stiles says.

Derek stops. Turns. “For this to work you have to trust me.”

“Alright,” Stiles nods. “Okay.” He’ll know better next time. “You do what you have to do.”

Stiles doesn’t even know what he’s saying, his grip is firm on his cock and he’s this close to coming. This close. From a fucking kiss.

Also from the way Derek no longer looks like he’s going anywhere.

He looks like it would take a bulldozer to move him, his eyes half-lid, glued to what Stiles is doing. Mesmerized by Stiles jerking off.

Stiles feels pretty pleased with himself and superior until  Derek steps out of his boxers and starts palming his own dick. It’s definitely a meaty handful, but nothing so huge Stiles wants to run away.

“Come here?” Stiles tries, keeping his voice gentle.

Derek, the fucking cocktease, stays at the other side of the room.

Stiles gets what the attraction is. The steady pace of Derek’s hand. He looks otherworldly and so, soo hot. Stiles tries to match his space, speeding up his moves, even though he knows any extra pressure and he’s-

Oh Fuck. Ohhhh fuck.

Stiles comes back to himself. Blinks, almost surprised to still have a body, let alone find it lying in a relaxed heap on Derek’s bed.

Stiles pats the mattress in invitation. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. I promise.”

Derek joins him.

Stiles laughs. He can’t believe he just-“When can we do this again?”

“Don’t you work?”

“Shit,” Stiles says, not really worried. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Yeah. That’s bad.”

“Isaac can drive you. He starts his shift in half an hour.”

“He’s here?”

“He lives here.”

“Cool,” Stiles says. “About the mate thing.”

“It’s fine,” Derek says.

“Yeah sure but. With Kate?”

Derek tenses.

“Just one thing! And I’m dropping it,” Stiles says. “But please tell me you found someone else. You stayed away and convinced yourself Kate was dead, right? And then that other person you found, they’re not dead. They’re just far away.”

“What does it matter?”

“I hate that you were tied to her. All that time. So you weren’t, right?”

 “Laura and I chased Kate. After the fire. We wasted years- Laura never took a break to just breathe and enjoy life for one fucking sec- The mate bond helped us hunt her down.”

“So there wasn’t anybody else.”

“No.”

 “But your sister knew?”

“Yeah. She forgave me. For what that’s worth.”

“Good.” Stiles spots the book on the end table. Turns his head to read the spine. _Frankenstein_ by Mary Shelley.  Not the comic book version. “That’s some light summer reading you got going on.”

“It’s good.”

Huh. Maybe- “Could I borrow it?”

“Are you crazy? It’s for my mom’s collection.”

“Right. You’re totally right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Stiles runs his hands through his hair. “I’ve got to cut this.”

“Don’t.”

Stiles turns on the bed to catch Derek admiring his hair. Never mind then. “I need to shower.”

Derek leads him to the bathroom.  The guy doesn’t stay to play.  Derek quickly cleans himself up, wraps a towel around his hips and heads out.

Stiles jumps in for a quick shower. He’s back in yesterday’s clothes, toweling his hair off when he walks into the kitchen. Raising his hand to cover a yawn.

There are two men sitting at the table eating breakfast.

Derek and Isaac, thank heaven.

“Peter really stays in the basement?” Stiles says, noticing all the locks on the front door and bars on the windows for the first time. “Hi Isaac. This for me?” Stiles grabs toast from the plate in front of an empty chair. “Thanks,” he says through a mouthful of toast. “But I have to be at the station like now.”

“I’m ready,” Isaac stands and walks out the front door.

“So,” Stiles says. “I’ll be seeing you around?”

“Yes. Get to work.”

“Cool.” To test the waters, Stiles kisses Derek. Oh yes. Derek responds with ninja swiftness, not pulling any punches, how the hell can he do that with- it’s just a mouth for pete’s sake! until-“Stop that. I have police stuff. Important police stuff to do.”

Stiles grins and walks out. He smiles through his morning shift, even when the new guy drops a stack of paperwork on his desk. During his lunch break he makes a quick stop at the bookstore.

Makes another quick stop. Rings the doorbell.

“Stiles?” Scott looks confused, still in his PJs.

“Here,” Stiles hands him the bag. “Read this. We’re starting a book club. You better be done by Friday, or else.”

Scott shrugs.

“Things are going to get better,” Stiles says. “I promise.”


End file.
